Trigger Finger
by eggsaladstain
Summary: Thomas Nash is the first man he kills for her. He's not the last. [1/1]


**Trigger Finger**

Thomas Nash is the first man he kills for her.

A single bullet, straight through the chest, from a weapon he hasn't used in a long time.

After countless missions armed only with ICERs, the weight of a real gun now feels heavy and foreign in his hands. As it should. Killing is not an act that is supposed to come easily, and yet, he is better versed in this particular discipline than most.

Still, that doesn't mean it's easy for him.

There is nothing easy about the blood on his hands.

…

Afterwards, when they question him, they ask what it was that made him lose control.

Lose control. As if he crashed his car in the middle of a bad snowstorm. As if he had one drink too many and started a brawl at a bar. As if he killed an unarmed man in cold blood.

But, wait. That last one he does do. But it isn't because he loses control.

Losing control is what happens in the church, when he holds the alien staff and relives his worst memory. It's what happens when the darkness engulfs him, until all he can see, all he can feel is rage.

When he pulls his weapon on the man in front of him, he doesn't lose control.

He assesses the situation. He eliminates the threat. He saves her life.

That is how he explains himself, to the agents questioning him, and later, to her. That is what they want to hear - that he let his hatred get the best of him, that he chose revenge over justice, that he let the enemy get inside his head - and that is what he tells them, because it's easier than admitting the truth.

The truth is, he did let his emotions cloud his judgment.

But it wasn't hatred that he felt.

…

He can't stop staring at the blood.

The small spot of red, so dark it's almost black, trailing a thin, neat line slowly down the man's shirt. Maybe he's just imagining it, but he swears he can feel it drip onto his fingers.

The gun is no longer in his hand, but the weight in his palm remains - the weight of all the other bodies, all the other lives he's taken before this one. He wonders how many more he'll be able to take before the burden is too much to bear.

The noise of the machine, a high-pitched flatline, echoes in the room, but the sound is muffled to his ears. He feels like he's drowning, like he's stepped into the deep end of an ocean from which there is no return.

It's her voice in his ear that brings him back. Her sharp exhale. Her question of surprise.

It's always been her, pulling him out of the dark.

It's always been her.

He wonders what she'll think of him now, now that she's seen what he's done, what he's capable of. What would she think if she knew that he considered killing the man slowly, and making him suffer? How would she look at him then?

As a monster, or as a man?

He's not sure there's much of a difference.

Not for him.

…

Somehow, it's the gun that finds its way into his hand. Not the ICER, even though it's closest in his holster; no, the gun. He notices the extra weight immediately and almost switches weapons when the man - the computer, rather - begins to speak.

_She has something we want_, the voice says slowly, and the words permeate the darkness, pressing an uncomfortable weight into his chest. He tightens his grip and tries to clear his throat, but it feels like he's suffocating.

_She will die giving it to us_. His breath catches as he remembers the sight of her lying pale and bloody and still. He can't bear the thought of losing her. He won't.

In one swift motion, he raises his weapon and looks into the eyes of the man who tried to destroy her.

_She will die_, he hears, and all he can think is _no. _

Not today.

Not again.

Not her.

…

Thomas Nash is the first man he kills for her.

He's not the last.

In their line of work, there is always another danger, another enemy, another threat. She'll never be safe, but that doesn't stop him from trying.

The gun is still heavy in his hands. But it's a familiar weight, a necessary reminder of the blood he's spilled and the bodies at his feet.

In their line of work, it's the price of happiness, and it's a price he gladly pays.

To keep her alive. To keep her happy. To keep her.

He raises his weapon.

He pulls the trigger.

…

_Fin_


End file.
